


Sometimes All You Can do is Run

by SecretShadowDust



Series: When You Break, I Will Be There [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Character with symptoms of depression, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Running, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Mental Ilness, No actual porn, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Run, Running, Running Angst, Running Away, Running Away From Emotions, Running Porn, Super Angst, implied eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretShadowDust/pseuds/SecretShadowDust
Summary: There are times when Trott finds himself caught in the moments when the sun is not yet rising and the moon hangs just above the dip of the horizon, the times when you catch yourself pondering whether it’s too early or too late. These are the times Trott often finds himself cherishing, running alongside the sunrise, basking in the gentle glow of the first glimpses of sunlight.I really like writing running scenes and angst.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a specific AU, I just really wanted to write a running fic, and really I can't not write angst... oh well, enjoy!

The cold air stings against his exposed skin, keeping his flushed cheeks a deep red. The only sound in the quiet night is his ragged breaths and light footfalls on the worn concrete. He doesn’t think as he runs, too focused on the steady beat of his own heart and the rhythmic swish of his fringe across his forehead.

He lets the breeze wash away the feeling in his fingertips, his hands bare to the bitterness as he had not only forgone a proper running jacket but also the warm gloves he often wore for early mornings. The air is especially cold with the sun yet not cresting the horizon, but he does not regret leaving his forearms bear, the chill helps to center him, bring him back to himself. 

With the absence of society he has no expectations to meet, no people to disappoint, no one to judge him for every small mistake he makes. He relishes these moments; the days he rises early enough to have the streets to himself free of curious eyes, when he doesn’t have to stress, just run and let his mind free. Of course some days he rises too early as Smith often liked to reprimand him for, but it’s not his fault he can’t sleep. It doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty when he thinks of Smith waking up early, finding his side of the bed empty and cold, how he probably tries to fight back the worry.

Trott hates to admit that sometimes he feels like he is running from things, but he is sure Smith knows - after stressful days Trott is more likely to be found running in the dark, desperate to be alone. Smith tries to understand, does his best and Trott appreciates it, but he could never truly comprehend the reasons. 

Trott refuses to admit that his runs are anything more than a way for him to exercise. He has continually told Smith they are for no other reason, but Smith knows him too well to believe it, but even then, he also knows him well enough to not push and question him on the matter. 

A cars headlights briefly illuminate the reflective stripes on Trott’s running shorts, glinting brightly in the darkness. The car passes by Trott and he briefly considers the thought of sprinting after it, following its taillights into the distance, not breaking stride until his legs collapse beneath him and his chest aches. He doesn’t; keeping his original pace as he watches the car fade away into the deep blue morning light. 

There are times when Trott finds himself caught in the moments when the sun is not yet rising and the moon hangs just above the dip of the horizon, the times when you catch yourself pondering whether it’s too early or too late. These are the times Trott often finds himself cherishing, running alongside the sunrise, basking in the gentle glow of the first glimpses of sunlight.

He remembers once dragging Smith out onto their small balcony, the rough surface of the deck cool with the nights chill and wet with morning dew. They had sat in silence for nearly two hours, watching the blackness turn into dark blue and then light, observing the delicate changes and scattering of colour in the sparse clouds as the sun rose. With the brisk autumn breeze they had held onto each other tightly, searching for warmth in one another’s embrace – it was there, curled into Smiths chest that he had been entirely at ease, happiness a heady thing they found themselves sheltered in. Though it had lasted for the whole day, melting into a lazy Saturday, it had lasted no longer, and they were quickly back into their routine of worry and stress.

Smith often worried that Trott was too thin, that he ought to stop skipping so many meals and not run as frequently. Trott never liked to talk about, preferring to avoid the subject all together, but on certain days Smith would reach out and circle his fingers around his wrist, and no matter if his wrist was any thinner it would always start an argument; Smith expressing his many concerns and Trott refusing to acknowledge them as he pulled away from the others grasp and retreated to the bathroom. 

Trott never knows how to voice his fears, he looks into the mirror and he doesn’t like what he sees; he hates how thin he is but at the same time he isn’t thin enough; he hates how Smith reaches for him and holds him like he is fragile, something that can be broken with even the softest of touches, but he is also irreparably broken – Smith only fears breaking him further. Trott can handle the arguments, can handle the anger and the fear that surrounds their daily lives, he can even handle the quiet admissions of worry and anguish; but it is always the quiet moments, the times when Smith holds him close and tells him he is beautiful, tells him that he will always be there, when the sun is setting and they hold each other in silence, when no words are needed, it is these moments that break him and tear apart his heart.

Trott runs into a more recognizable area; he can see the small coffee shop where they used to spend there early mornings and late nights studying together; he can see the quiet diner tucked off to the side of the road, the only place they can really afford to eat out at; Beside the coffee shop is an old bookstore, signified by the worn red sign hanging in front, one of trots favorite places. Running though the town swamps Trott in unwanted memories, slowing his pace down as he watches Smith and him grow behind his eyelids.

Slowing to a stop the brunette rests his hand against the brick of one of the ancient building, a for lease sign taped to the inside of the window, hanging from only one corner. He looks up and stares blearily at his faint reflection in the window. It’s hard to tell but he is sure he looks like a horrible mess, sweat dripping down his face and neck, hair plastered to his scalp, cheeks flushed a deep red and dark bags under his eyes. 

He leans over and stares at the ground, hands resting solidly on his knees to prevent himself from keeling over completely. He is afraid that if he closes his eyes his whole life will flash before them, every moment with Smith, his thoughtless kindness and Trott’s returned unrelenting bitterness and sadness. He knows he doesn’t deserve Smith, has always known, but despite his need to continually inform Smith of this fact, he has not yet left him as he should. He thinks of Smith watching him fall apart, watching Trott breakdown over and over again; Smith cries for Trott sometimes, when he holds him or when he thinks Trott isn’t looking or awake; Trott cries too, behind closed bathroom doors and muffled into pillows, he tries not to cry into Smiths embrace but he can’t always hold them back.

Trott feels his chest start to ache and he feels the tears gathering in his eyes, he shakes his head furiously, he can’t here, not here. Frantically he looks around, the streets are empty save for the occasional early driver, and it’s too early for even the coffee shop to be open, but he can’t shake the dread building in his chest, the insatiable need to run, to get away. 

So he runs, feet pounding heavily against the concrete as he pushes through his fatigue. His knees ache and his head swims but he doesn’t let up on his speed, racing away from himself, maintaining speed even as he passed the town’s border. The large sign welcoming people to the area faded behind his back until it was no longer visible, but no matter how far he ran or fast he wasn’t satisfied, so he kept going. 

Cars sped past him as he ran along the highway, the main road into the town branching out to the much bigger space. He ran close enough to the road for the speed of the cars to whip his hair into a disarray, but no closer. 

The sun was beginning its ascent, forming behind the horizon as he ran north alongside it. A burning sensation was spreading in his lungs as they received too little air to maintain his rapid breathing. The pain spread through him and he did his best to ignore it, even as it started to effect the rest of his body. He pushed on desperately, beginning to stumble as his strength and stamina dwindle.

Finally, his chest and his body aching, Trott came to a halt. He closed his eyes and rested both hands against the back of his head, painfully trying to control his breathing. The few cars on the highway whipped past him, stirring his fringe and blowing his loose shirt. 

Chris stumbled away from the highway, practically collapsing in a small space of patchy grass. He lay in the taunting quiet, a silence broken frequently by speeding cars and gasping winds stirring loose leaves and needles from the looming trees. The rising sun painted patterns over his closed eye lids and colored his hair golden, a timid tranquility settling over his mind and calming the raging thoughts.

He wasn’t sure how long he was there, time passing like the cars racing down the highway just meters from the soles of his old runners. It was a calm moment, his body heavy, a dark storm threatening to unleash itself on his mind, while simultaneously he was lighter than ever; terribly close to just floating away and losing himself in the endless blue of the sky. 

Eventually Smith came; he climbed out of the driver’s seat of the ancient green pickup parked on the shoulder of the highway. He strolled hesitantly around the front, staring worriedly at Trott’s form, “Chris?” he stepped forwards and swallowed.

Trott blinked his eyes open, unfocused, his eyelids unnaturally heavy. He struggled to push himself upright, planting one hand solidly in the dirt, he stared hazily at Smith, opening his mouth to respond before closing it unsure - There was a sad tilt to the edges of Trott’s lips.

Seeing the down-trodden expression on Trott’s face was what pushed Smith to his side, where he helped him stand, resting a solid hand on his shoulder and gently wiping at the dirt on the shorter man’s cheeks. The brunette leaned heavily into him, legs too sore to hold himself up unwaveringly.

Trott looked up at Smith quietly before starting off towards the green pickup, “I’m Sorry,” he whispered, hands trembling, “God, I’m so sorry,” the first tears slipped down his cheeks and Smith pulled him into his chest, stilling their progress. He rested his head protectively on top of Chris’, arms coming around the other man’s shoulders and securing him against his body.

“I’m a waste of space,” Trott’s words were quiet, “You deserve so much better, so much more,” His voice choked with a sob.

Smith pulled him harder to his chest and pretended not to hear him, instead watching the way the rising sun painted patterns into Trott’s back, wishing that the sun would be enough to quiet the darkness raging inside the smaller man’s mind, but knowing it never would be.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine in this AU that Trott probably suffers from both an eating disorder and depression, largely brought on by the presence of his eating disorder. Smith is very supportive and tries to help but often times feels like Trott doesn't want it and isn't willing to make an effort. Trott who has always struggled to resonate or care about anything or anyone throughout his life has finally made a connection with Smith but constantly feels like he's fucking everything up.


End file.
